Harsh Times at the Hard Rock Cafe
by Shenaniganary
Summary: YJ Anon kink meme fill. Five times the Arrows fight each other and one time they fight together.


**This is a repost of a fill I posted on the yj_anon_meme kink meme. The content has been edited from its original content, as I posted the original before I truly edited it. I did indeed write this in its entirety, before and after the edits.**

**Original Prompt:**

Five times the Arrows fought with each other, and one time they fought _together_.

**Disclaimer: Dick Grayson/Robin and Superboy do not belong to me, nor does the universe they occupy.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Roy, you know they didn't mean anything by it—"

"I don't _care_ what _they_ meant, Ollie!" The red-head rips at his yellow gauntlets, slamming them into the tile floor as he barges through the house toward his room. He's _out_ of this place, _done_ with this old man's influence on his life and on _him_.

Fuck the League. Fuck being the old man's partn-_sidekick_. Fuck _everything_. He's done.

He. Is. Done.

And nothing Ollie can say will change his mind. None of the man's cajoling, his bribes and his half-felt attempts to calm him down will make him change _anything_ anymore. Not even when he starts shouting, spouting off curses and spine-tipped words like Roy has done something personal to _him_. Roy doesn't care. Not as he packs up his stuff, not as he hauls it all onto his restored motorcycle, and not when he viciously turns the ignition key and slams the cycle into gear.

He doesn't know where he's going to go. He hadn't thought much beyond _I'm getting the fuck out of here_ and he knows he's going to regret it. Sometime. Not now. Not when all he wants to do is go back to the Hall of Freaking _Justice_ to smack some _goddamn sense_ into so-called his friends. They have no idea what they're getting into. _No flipping idea_/, and it pisses him off almost as much as Ollie's betrayal.

"I'm done." He snarls as he brakes harshly at a stoplight, glancing back behind him out of sheer habit, "I'm _done_."

And for the first time in god knows how long, as he glares ahead at the empty street before him, he feels like a real person again.

* * *

"That was the stupidest thing you've ever done." Dinah folds her arms across the kitchen table, her piercing blue eyes, his favorite part about her along with her tits and her ass and her beautiful _mind_, filled with his least favorite emotion. He hates it when she disapproves, if only because it usually means he's done something she can't stand for and he's not about to get off the hook until he makes it right. He's not about to get at that ass or those tits or her mouth until—

"I know," He growls, staring down into his bowl of chili like it'll hold all the answers. He'd _tried_. He'd been _sure_ the League would let Roy in as soon as they saw what he could do. How could he have known there were no exceptions? There was _always _exceptions, he should know.

"Obviously you _don't_ since Roy's room is _empty_."

He'd have flinched if he were less of a man, but he's not so he only gives her a scathing look, one she returns tenfold. He growls and glares at her balefully.

"It was his choice, Dinah. What do you want me to do?"

Her fist slams into the table and he hears a loud _crack_. Shit. She's pissed enough to damage his stuff. "You should have gone after him!"

He stares at her, shock making his expression slack.

"You are his _mentor_, Ollie! He looked up to you for _years_. I saw him practicing at the range for _hours_ after you left. He even asked me for stretches to help him be more _ready_ for whatever crazy stunt you and he were going to pull later." It's almost terrifying, how angry she is at him for this. Even _he_ hadn't been this angry when Roy had left. But it's different between Roy and Dinah. They have a bond he's never been able to pick apart. Dinah thinks of Roy like a son and she's always been protective of him in a way she just isn't for anyone else.

"There was nothing I could do, Dinah!" He shoots back, slamming his own fist into the abused table, "How was I supposed to know Batman and the others wouldn't go for it? They've seen him in action before! They know what he can do! I was _sure_-"

"And look what your assumptions got us, Ollie!" She snaps, fists clenching, her voice rising with each word, "Why can't you just _think things through_ for once in your life? Or maybe ask before you go off and ruin his hopes because you're too full of it to actually make the effort beforehand!"

"Now wait just one goddamn minute here! I _know_ it's my fault here! But we could've fixed things if he'd just stayed! If he'd just waited a _little_ while longer we've could've talked to the league and figured something out!"

"But you didn't, Ollie! You let him run off on his own without even bothering to make sure you knew where he was going! Do you have any idea where he is now? What he's doing? What he's _planning_ to do?"

"Well, I—"

"You don't! You're just sitting here on your ass waiting for him to come home! What is _wrong_ with you, Ollie? He's your partner!"

Her fist slams into the table again, the force only just controlled enough _not_ to break through it.

"You should be going _after_ him, you jackass! You should be out there trying to _fix_ things instead of just letting him run off on his own! He doesn't have anyone but us, Ollie!" He voice cracks and she stops, slumping forward with her head hanging as her weight presses into the hard wood, "You just let him _leave_, Ollie. Just let him—without even—!" He flinches as her voice cracks again and she falls silent, watches as her throat works and she fights not to cry. He hates when she gets like this, hates it more when he knows it's all _his_ fault.

"I'm going to find him," She says, after a long, gut-twisting moment.

"Dinah—"

"Shut up!" She shrieks, her pitch rising dangerously high. He stares at her as she fights for control, breathing heavily, watching as she works through the calming techniques she learned from her Master all those years ago.

"I'm going to find him." She repeats, as if every time she says it, it'll be somehow become true. Her eyes have the dangerous lilt to them, the one that says she can and _will_ hurt anyone who tries to go against her. He loves that look, always has, maybe even more than her ass, but he knows better than to fight her this time. He wants to keep his balls for later.

She moves suddenly; snatching up her black leather jacket and jerking it over her shoulders in one smooth and yet somehow violent motion, "I'm going to find him, _talk_ with him and we'll figure it out from there. Don't you _dare_ do anything until I get back." She jabs her finger at him for emphasis and stalks out of the kitchen. He can hear her muttering to herself as she moves down the hall, the picture of an enraged hero on a mission.

God, he loves her.

* * *

It's easy enough to follow the green dot moving quickly over the rooftops to his next target. Pathetic, almost, but Roy knows better than to underestimate his old mentor. There's a reason he's on the Justice League.

Still, he has no trouble following the older man, checking his position against the shadows and their target with the ease of long practice, his fingers flexing alternatively against the stone of a building and the familiar curve of his bow. Star City never disappoints, especially in surprises.

He sights them at almost the same time the old man does, skidding to a silent halt on a roof four spans away from the other man, cocking an arrow of his own with less than a thought.

It's easy for him; a perk of going solo is he can snatch up new equipment before Green Arrow gets a chance to get it first and leave him his hand-me-downs. Roy grits his teeth against the memories. They're _good_ ones, nice ones, and he doesn't want to remember the old man doing anything nice for him.

So he levels his bow, arrow cocked and ready, sighting his first target and releasing before the other man gets his first shot off.

He smirks, watching his arrow hit a full three seconds before Green Arrow's and cocks another as he slides into a better position. It's a game they play now; _Who can get the villains faster_, or, in Arrow-speak, _Who can piss off the other faster by getting the job done first_. And Roy's winning, like last time, like _always_ because he's always been better than the old man, always been faster, been fucking _speedier_-

And then he hears the familiar whistle and tucks and _rolls_ out of the way, coming back up to find an arrow right where his body used to be. A _green_ arrow, and it looks heart-jerkingly familiar until he realizes the fletching is just that little bit different and the point isn't barbed like it's been since he was ten, but it's enough like Ollie's; the shape, the color and look to it, that he's almost convinced Ollie just changed his design again—until another arrow whistles past his head and he hears Ollie shout an order to someone—someone else—and he doesn't remember ducking behind the metal grate, but he's sure as hell grateful for it, because that arrow is _not Ollie's fucking arrow_ and that shout wasn't meant for _him_ and that can only mean one thing.

He's been _replaced_.

Replaced like one of Ollie's fucking hair products when it stops working for him. Replaced like one of his stupid bows when he wants the new fucking model. Roy doesn't remember grabbing the green arrow either, and he stares at it and grits his teeth against the _anger_ and the _pain_, because this means that Ollie just _doesn't fucking care_ anymore and Roy had thought he'd been able to handle that, had _been_ handling it, but this—this—

He's back in his dingy apartment before he remembers getting there and he _knows_ he didn't just _go home_ like an _idiot_ because he's been at this for fucking long enough to know fifty separate ways to get into his place without even using the front _door _so he's only a little pissed at himself for not keeping it together long enough to remember that part.

His phone is in his hand before he's bothered to even strip his mask off. It's a cheap, prepaid cell because _again_ he's not an idiot. His fingers punch the numbers before he can register he's doing it but he breathes calmly enough, forces the screaming tension out enough, not to shout into the receiver when he hears the line go through.

"_Dinah-_"

"Roy," And her tone. Just her _voice_. And it's just his name but he _knows_. Knows that she'll understand. Out of anyone, _everyone_ in the world, she'll understand what he's going through because it's fucking _Ollie_ and he may have been Roy's mentor but _Dinah's_ the one in love with him so at least he doesn't have that to add to his fuel. He breathes and waits for her to continue, because he knows she will, because she knows he _needs_ her to, "I'm here. Tell me everything."

He lets out a strangled sob and collapses onto the ratty chair that came with his crappy apartment and bares his soul again. Because it's one thing to _leave_ someone and entirely different to be _replaced_.

* * *

It's different working with Artemis, and only half because she's iffy with trust at best. Her nuances are different, her moves and quirks aren't synched with his, and it's taking him longer to adjust than he thought it would. She's got the skills, she's cute and quick on her feet, but it's not the same as with Roy. She can't predict his thoughts with a twitch of his finger, can't know his opinion from the look in his eyes. They're working on it, and that's what matters—but it's not the same as before and he knows it never will be.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when _he's_ the one being shoved up against an alley wall.

"You're holding _back_," Hisses the girl, her dark eyes black in the crappy light of the stinking alley, "I don't care _what's _wrong with you, or what you're dealing with inside that head of yours but _I'm_ not going to be the one to take the fall if you screw up."

She shoves him again and struts away, for all the world like she's _finished all her business tonight_ and it pisses him off like nothing else has in months. He reaches out and jerks her arm, clenching her wrist in a grip that's surely painful, but he's too pissed to care.

"Now you listen here, _missy_," He snarls, teeth bared, "I don't know who you think you _are_ but you're only my partner because you _have_ to be. Believe me, if Batman hadn't _insisted_ on it, I wouldn't have looked at you _twice_. You're good, I'll give you that, but don't even _begin_ to think you can lecture me on the do's-and-don'ts here. You're here because the League is giving you a _chance_. Don't you _dare_ think that we'll forgive you if you screw up again."

He shoves her arm out of his away, "Let's get a move on. We've got two more hours before I _think_ about ending our patrol."

He can hear her spit at the ground behind him, sneering as he walks off before he does something _really_ stupid, "_I'm_ not the one who's going to need forgiveness from the League if you keep this up!"

He ignores her and shoots a grappling arrow to the roof down the street.

He misses the old days.

* * *

She's just minding her own business, chilling in the dark edges of a street on the rotten side of town after tying up a few run of the mill criminals who can't seem to stay out of trouble long enough for their previous wounds to heal. Knowing guys like these, the fact they're even out on bail is enough to make her want to scream. But she picking up the last few arrows, intent on getting a move on before Green Arrow starts in on her for something inane and pointless again when she feels a presence behind her and whirls around, arrow cocked and ready, stance planted firmly with barely a thought about it.

She feels, rather than sees, the sneer.

"So you're it, huh? The _new_ one." His tone tells her who he is before he even steps out of the shadows.

He's cleaned up nice. New gear, better outfit, a decently designed bow gripped easily in his hand. She might have even found him mildly attractive if his face wasn't stuck in that pain-filled grimace.

She straightens and pops out her hip, not about to let him intimidate her. She's beaten far better.

"And what are you? His _old_ one?" She never takes her eyes off of him, watching as he rolls his shoulders and takes in the rest of the scene before him with a tilt of his head. He's taunting her, ignoring her by focusing on everything else. Like she doesn't matter.

It sets her blood to boil.

"No." He says finally, his white gaze settling back on her, the look on his face speaking more about him than that one word. He thinks he's figured something out about her, thinks he's got her pegged. Her fingers itch to show him just how wrong he is.

But she just rolls her eyes at him, tossing her hand up in a gesture of dismissal rather than using it to break his face, "Yeah, whatever, dude. It's not like I care either way."

He grabs for her wrist and she twists against it, kicking him in the stomach hard enough to knock him back a step, and then she's got an arrow cocked and aimed at his throat. It's only a little surprising to find another pointed at her face.

"Surprise, surprise, at least you've got _some_ training," He grinds out, his lips twitching like he approves. She doesn't _want_ his approval. Doesn't need it.

"More than you'll ever know, _Speedy_."

He doesn't even twitch, and that earns him a smirk from her. Good. He's learning just like the rest of them.

"Don't even _think_ about hurting them," Is all he says. She cocks a brow at him like she doesn't understand; like it isn't obvious who he's referring to. He growls at her and tightens up like he's about to let loose. She can't wait.

"If you do _anything_ to them, if I hear even the slightest little _peep_ that you're about to go off and hurt them," He doesn't draw himself up or relax his form, but the street feels darker and he feels inexplicably larger and that much more dangerous. She licks her lips for it, waiting, "I will find you and _when_ I catch you. I will make you regret even _thinking_ about hurting them."

She watches him, silently, for a long assessing moment. Then she just smiles at him, that sweet-perfect smile that always pisses the boys off. She learned it just for that.

"What, you want me to promise you or something?" She taunts, watching for any hint, any twitch that he'll move and come at her. She's ready. Prepared for it, aching for it, and the anticipation has adrenaline spiking through her system. She loves it when it's down to the wire; loves the _thrill_ of it more than anything. She'd live off it, if she could. Does it as much as she can right now.

"No." He answers finally, relaxing his form and dropping his arrow back into his quiver as if she isn't a threat worthy of it anymore, "Just wanted to make things clear."

And then he just up and _leaves_.

She holds her position for a minute longer after he's gone; ears straining for any sort of sound that meant he was coming back, but there's nothing. Just the sound of the city filtering in around her, swallowing her up in its tainted sickly-sweet mouth.

She scowls and knocks back the arrow she had cocked, straightening and shaking her head.

"They're such a bunch of freaks." She muses as she jerks the last arrow out of the filthy ground, "But at least they're entertaining."

* * *

It's dark and Artemis can't tell heads or tails of the alley they've jumped into. Not for the first time, she wonders why she didn't put in those white-out slots on her mask like practically everyone else. Sometimes it sucks to be different. She should know.

But it doesn't matter now. There's blood on her face and in her eyes, but it's not like that's the first time or even the fiftieth, so she adapts like she always does. Ramming into the crooks with her fists and her bow, knocking them back only to have them surge back at her because it's so fucking crowded they can't even _move_, and she's lost Green Arrow somewhere but she can't even spare a moment to _care_ because someone's got a hold of her middle and is trying to throw her down—

Something slices past her, and her head instinctively jerks to the side only to hear the faint wet _thunt_ that means it hit flesh. The goon's hold on her slackens as he lets out a very unmanly shriek, until she gets her fist in his face to punch him in the jaw. He goes down like a sack of potatoes but his spot is quickly filled and it's back to work.

Fighting but not killing someone is time-consuming and if she didn't need to make that sort of impression she wouldn't even bother. But it's interesting enough. The challenge of it doesn't escape her, breaking jaws instead of skulls, punching throats instead of crushing larnyxs. It's almost cathartic in an incredibly weird way. She wipes a hand over her eyes the first chance she gets to clear her vision enough to glance around for the source of the help. She's expecting Green Arrow, in all his arrogant glory, but she can't see him, and the trajectory of the arrows, red and not just from blood, make her look up as she kicks another man into the building wall.

She can't see his face, but the red arrow slicing past her only to explode into a mass of sticky red glue on a man trying to come at her with the standard scream and open arms to grab her only confirms her assumptions.

"Get a _move on!_" She hears him shout. She takes a moment to flip him the bird before obeying, using her bow in a way it was only designed for because it's specially made to withstand the force of hitting a person with it, or in this case two of them.

With Red Arrow up high they're finally making a dent in the swarm of men. Not that she really cares anymore. She's so high on adrenaline that she can't tell if the person in front or behind is friend or foe and doesn't really give a damn either way. The swell and pound of battle just means there's something there to hit and knock her adrenaline that much higher.

She feels her lips twist into that grin, that familiar jolt in her veins that makes her body feel like it's invincible, like she can do _anything_ because she's doing what she _loves_ what she _needs_ and she's doing it while still being able to be called a _good guy _and it's glorious and perfect and she can't stop, won't stop, will _never_ stop-until pain bursts through her skull and the world goes white.

She wakes up what feels like hours later but is probably only minutes. A dark-bodied but blonde-haired woman is leaning over her and she blinks away blood, her body struggling to get up and _move_ because it could be—Dinah. Just Dinah. Just looking down at her with that amused (and proud, that looks like a proud look if she squints long enough) glint in her eyes.

"I think you've done enough here," She hears faintly through the ringing in her ears. She might have only understood that because she was staring at the older woman's mouth.

"Let's get you back home."

And she feels herself being hauled up onto Dinah's back without another word. She'd protest, vehemently and as loudly as possible, but her body feels too heavy and her throat won't work right. She vaguely registers another set of presences, less by voice than by sheer conditioning to focus on all of her senses, but the ringing in her ears is just getting louder and it's pissing her off. Why can't it just be _quiet_ for once? Sure, she can't expect anyone who's a part of their—group? Team? Loosely affiliated coalition?—to understand the concept of _shutting the hell up,_ but they could at least have the decency to know that she's tired and let her _sleep_. But she's too exhausted to start a shouting match with them, so she just groans quietly and buries herself in a leather-bound shoulder. She'll deal with it when she wakes up.

She closes her eyes and dreams of her mom.


End file.
